


Dough Re Mi

by LamBams (forfitzsimmons)



Series: The Other 51 Hamilton Challenge [3]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Baker James Madison, Baking, Cake Decorator John Laurens, Cake Decorator Thomas Jefferson, Cute, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hamilton References, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, References to Depression, Single Parent Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson's Actual A+ Parenting, Thomas still loves Martha, he's a good dad okay, like maybe two, really long end-note, terrible fathers, this doesn't even span a month because I'm so impatient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 10:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13611276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forfitzsimmons/pseuds/LamBams
Summary: “Please, call me Thomas since we’ll be working together.” Jefferson began by spreading a thin layer of icing on and around the cake, smoothing it over perfectly.“That’s a bit presumptuous.” James added, with emphasis, “Mr. Jefferson.”orJames needs someone to decorate his cakes and Thomas needs something to do while his girls are at school. They both got more than they bargained for.





	Dough Re Mi

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this basically since I finished Thomas Jefferson is Not Crushing on James Madison. I'm so happy I finished it, though I'm sure errors abound in it since it's hard to catch them when I'm writing on both My phone and my computer. Anyway, I hope you like it 'cause basically everyone is at least a little gay here. There are, again, a bunch of plot holes for the sake of my impatience, but I like it anyway.

“I’m gonna kill that kid’s boyfriend if he isn’t already dead.” James ran a tired hand down his face, frowning at all the not-decorated cakes.

“Don’t say that.” Dolley slapped his shoulder. “Poor John can’t help that his boyfriend got into a fight over in Jersey.”

“A duel,” James corrected. “John called it a duel. Just because everything is legal in Jersey, doesn’t mean it should be done.” James took stock of what confections were already in the coolers and huffed. “I’m gonna have Alex’s head for this. What are we supposed to do with a bunch of un-iced cakes, Doll? Even if we make samples out of them, we’ll need someone to ice the cakes I make tomorrow.”

“And John won’t be back until Alexander is out of the hospital…”

“Right.”

The two managed to sigh and collapse into chairs simultaneously. They lapsed into silence. There was a reason James had hired John, other than the boy’s artistic talent. James could construct a perfectly symmetrical croquembouche tree, but he couldn’t decorate a cake to save his life. He recalled the frankly embarrassing icing jobs from his time in school and shuddered. That devil’s food cake had never been the same.

And Dolley? She was the brains behind the entirety of Dough Re Mi. Cashier, accountant, manager, co-owner, etc. If it didn’t involve the actual confectionary process, she oversaw it. James loved his best friend, but she didn’t have an artistic bone in her body.

Dolley rubbed his back and tried to put on a smile for him. “I guess we’ll have to hire a temp.” She pulled out her phone and began to type.

James stood and threw on his apron. “There’s no such thing as a temp cake decorator.” He pulled out the sugar and flour from the storeroom. “No one would work this short-term or so soon and while I’m not happy with him at the moment, John was supposed to stay with us until he graduates.” He took milk, butter, and eggs from the fridge. “I don’t think we have the money to have two decorators.” He rummaged for the measuring cups and started mixing ingredients into a bowl. “Basically, we’re doomed.”

Dolley put a gentle hand on the arm James was using to repeatedly beat the butter and sugar. “Jemmy, you’re stress baking.”

“I know,” he hissed. “I’m trying to make something we won’t need to ice.” He began to fold in the wet ingredients. “Maybe someone will buy it.”

A loud knock made James almost spill everything on the floor. He composed himself and his supplies before turning to Dolley.

“That was fast,” she said without any explanation. She left the kitchen to answer the door.

James frowned and followed after her. He peeked around the corner to see Dolley conversing with a tall man with large hair. James wouldn’t bother denying he gave the guy a once-over. He was, objectively, a good-looking man with a scruffy beard that he’d never let near his kitchen and fancy clothes that wouldn’t last an hour in a bakery. He raised an eyebrow at the magenta parachute pants, but moved on.

“James, stop lurking!” Dolley caught him out. “Come meet Mr. Jefferson.” She gestured between them. “Mr. Jefferson, this is James Madison, co-owner and head baker of Dough Re Mi. James, this is Thomas Jefferson.”

James shook the man’s soft hand. “A pleasure, Mr. Jefferson. May I ask the nature of your visit?”

“I saw your ad,” he said, a southern twang apparent.

“Ad?” James turned to Dolley. “When did you post an ad?”

“While you were stress baking, hon. Mr. Jefferson messaged me immediately regarding our temporary cake decorator position and I invited him over.”

“If you’d like,” Jefferson drawled, “I’d be happy to show you what I can do. I’ve been getting a bit bored with retirement, so a short stint here would be nice.”

“You look a bit young to be retired,” James said.

“I moisturize.” Jefferson smiled like it was some kind of inside joke.

“You understand that if you were to work here, you’d have to shave and wear more flexible clothing?”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, darlin’.” Thomas winked at James and he willed himself not to blush. “I used to run a bakery myself.” A far-off look replaced the mirth in his eyes. “That was a while back, but it was a pretty good time.”

James chose not to address the sudden drop in mood. “Well, I can’t let you into the kitchen, but I’ll bring something out along with our decorating supplies.”

James returned with a basic chocolate cake and a variety of icing tips, piping bags, and other bits and pieces. He handed over John’s apron and a hair net. Jefferson donned them without any of the complaints James had been expecting.

In fact, the moment Jefferson was properly geared up, he seemed to zero in on his task, inspecting the tips and food dye and icing before analyzing the cake at all angles.

Jefferson huffed a laugh. “I see you’ve given me a limit.” He pointed at the bowl of icing. “It’s a small place so you can’t afford to give me a mountain of icing to do with what I will, regardless of whether it’s a test or part of a job.”

“Good eye, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Please, call me Thomas since we’ll be working together.” Jefferson began by spreading a thin layer of icing on and around the cake, smoothing it over perfectly.

“That’s a bit presumptuous.” James added, with emphasis, “Mr. Jefferson.”

The man took one of the smaller bowls he’d been allowed to mix the icing with purple food dye. He scraped it into a piping bag and made little violet rosettes in a circle.

“Is purple your favorite color or something?” Dolley looked amused.

“Sort of. It’s my daughter’s, so I’m partial to it.” Jefferson mixed a batch of green icing and began creating an ivy pattern over the cake.

That surprised James. “You have a daughter?”

“Two. Do you have little ones at home?”

Dolley snickered. “James scares every baby that’s looked at him.”

James rolled his eyes, but kept focus on the pink leaves Jefferson was icing onto the ivy pattern. “Yeah, well, they scare me too.”

“I could do a lot more with marzipan,” Jefferson muttered. “Do you make the marzipan, or do I?”

Another presumptuous comment. “If I hire you,” he emphasized the words. “Then you’ll make it. Is that a problem?”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’. “I like shaping the marzipan. I actually even have a nut-free recipe since my wife—“ Jefferson cut himself off and faltered in his movements. “Anyway, that’s fine with me. So, how long have you two been married?”

Dolley let out a full-belly laugh while James started coughing up a lung. Jefferson looked at them with furrowed eyebrows and James off-handedly noted his expressive face.

He was quick to clarify, “We’re not married. Never been, never will be.”

“Aw, am I not good enough for you, Jemmy?” Dolley teased him. She threw an arm around James’ shoulder. “I guess you assumed because of my ring?” She held up her left hand for the light to catch the small diamond on her ring finger. “I’m happily married to my wife. Jemmy and I have known each other since the first grade, so I understand the confusion.”

“We considered it for tax benefits, but then Angelica came into the picture and killed that plan.” Dolley elbowed him. “Ow! It’s true! I never said I didn’t like her.” He momentarily pulled his gaze from Jefferson’s work to glare at his friend.

“It never would’ve worked between me and Jem anyway since we’re both gay as a unicorn vomiting rainbows.”

“Dolley!”

James looked back to find Jefferson smiling at him. “It’s fine. I’m bi, one of my daughters is trying to figure herself out. It wasn’t quite so common—or commonly spoken of—in Virginia, but this is New York City.”

James pointedly ignored the part of him that was pleasantly surprised at Jefferson’s words. “You’re from Virginia?”

“Born and raised,” he agreed. “Might’ve even heard of my folks. Peter Jefferson?” He turned back to examine his work.

“The politician?” James’ eyes bugged out. “You’re the son of Peter Jefferson and you ended up as a cake decorator?”

“It’s quite the story, I suppose, but it’s a story for another time.” Jefferson gestured to his work. “I think I’m okay with what I put together. I’m a little out of practice, but it ain’t bad.”

James heard Dolley hum in appreciation, but James cast a critical eye on the cake. He had to admit, it looked good. Though, Jefferson was right to say he was out of practice.

Some of the flowers were slightly bigger or smaller than the rest and the vines were thicker in some places, but neither were things the average customer would notice. The design itself was actually quite pretty and would be good catered to their usual clientele, mainly women, children, and sometimes the elderly who generally liked a cake with a bit of color and flair.

“You didn’t specify a theme or topic, so I just went with what I thought my daughters would like.” He gazed at the cake with a far-away smile. “My eldest wants to be a botanist and my youngest is into purple and pink right now.”

James had a feeling Jefferson was probably a very good father. “Hmm…” James was trying to be difficult on purpose and the glare he got from Dolley said she could tell. “And what would your available hours be?”

Jefferson smirked like he knew he’d won. “I have to take my daughters to school in the morning, but I can always stay late or just come straight back after that. I don’t mind working all day, but I’d like to eat dinner with my girls.”

James gave Jefferson a good long stare, but it seemed to make the man more confident instead of nervous like James had hoped. “Can you start immediately?”

“Yessir, I can.” Jefferson didn’t bother holding back a toothy grin.

James could feel it in his bones that he’d regret this, but they were desperate and Jefferson was just a temp. He’d only be here a week or two at most, maybe he’d come in when John couldn’t. That’s what James told himself.

He held out his hand and said, “Welcome to Dough Re Mi, Mr. Jefferson.”

Jefferson shook it firmly. “I’m happy to have the chance to make you call me Thomas.”

Somehow, James had no doubt that Jefferson would get his way.

#

A clean-shaven Jefferson was already waiting out front when James arrived at 2:30 in the morning. James gave him an approving nod before unlocking the front door. He locked it behind them as they made their way to the kitchen. The two men immediately got to work, though James kept an eye on Jefferson.

He decided to make some roll cakes first since they’d have to sit in the cooler after baking. James grabbed the jelly roll pans from the cabinet. He glanced at Jefferson to find him pulling out the cornmeal.

“What are you using cornmeal for?” It was the first sentence he’d actually said to the man that morning.

Jefferson grabbed one of the allergy-free blenders. “The nut-free marzipan I mentioned. I’ll make the regular kind as well.” He didn’t look up from his task as he continued. “These’ll have a vanilla flavor instead of almond, so it’ll be best with something like dark chocolate.”

“Noted.” With that, James got back to work.

They moved around each other with almost as much fluidity as James did with John after a year of working with him. He was surprised by the mutual silence—Jefferson seemed like the talkative type—but he certainly wasn’t complaining. By the time Dolley walked in at 6:30, the pastry cases were already full of sweets that had been put together the previous night and that morning. James found her admiring some of the confections featuring Jefferson’s handiwork when he put out a batch of dark chocolate raspberry cookies.

“Don’t try to tell me you’re not impressed, Jem.”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

It helped that earlier James had pulled out a book of cakes John decorated. John tended to take pictures of his work. Jefferson asked if he could tweak any of the designs and James, against his better judgement, allowed it.

The gamble paid off, though. Mostly, the designs varied in color combinations. Some were completely new decorations, but all of them looked as professional as James needed them to be.

“Well, I’m flattered, Mr. Madison.” James startled when he suddenly heard Jefferson behind him. “Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“It’s fine.” James willed his heart to calm down. “I wasn’t holding anything.”

Jefferson untied his apron and hung it up. “I’m gonna drop off my girls and come straight back.”

The day progressed from there. Dolley had a good stream of customers, occasionally peeking into the back to tell the two men when they were low on something. Jefferson was all smiles when he came back to hear some people commenting on the allergy-free sweets. James rolled his eyes at him, but he was satisfied too.

By 6 o’clock, the display cases were almost empty. The shop would close at 8 if they didn’t sell everything, but it looked like it would be an early day. James began cleaning up the kitchen.

“You can go on home, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Thomas,” he corrected. “You sure? I can stay to help you clean.”

James looked up from wiping down the counters. “Clean up your area and you’re good. Go home to your family.”

Jefferson nodded. James decided it was probably a cursory offer and he was fine with that. The decorator was soon done cleaning and bid him and Dolley adieu, almost literally.

“ _Bonne nuit, monsieur Madison, mademoiselle Dolley._ ”

James dryly replied, “Why?”

It took a moment before Jefferson realized what James was referring to. “I like _Français_. My bakery had been named _Beau Gâteau_.”

“Beautiful cake?” James raised a brow at him. “Isn’t that a bit on the nose?”

“If the shoe fits.” He winked at James. Jefferson threw him and Dolley a wave and swooped out the door.

“He’s really something, huh, Jemmy?”

“Emphasis on ‘huh’.”

Dolley put her hands on her hips. “Don’t be grumpy just because you wanna tap that.”

“Dolley, please,” James begged, “don’t talk like you’re an 18-year-old. I remember that year and it wasn’t pretty for either of us.”

She huffed, but put on a smile. “You didn’t deny it.” She walked back out to the front and left James to clean and mutter about ridiculous best friends and men he would not want to ‘tap’.

#

James never planned to tell anyone he looked up Jefferson’s old bakery when he got home. It was out of pure curiosity, of course. He wasn’t expecting what he found.

He examined the news articles with a heavy weight on his chest. He’d expected an old menu or Yelp review and instead he got… Well, he got nothing he was ever going to bring up with Jefferson. That was for sure.

James tried to clear the lump in his throat when he exited out of an obituary page dated three years prior.

#

“So,” Jefferson said, breaking the relative silence James had been enjoying the past couple of days. “Any reason for the name?” The man was folding and stretching out some sugar. The sugar work already looked pretty with the color swirls in it. James was actually looking forward to the end result.

“Of the bakery?” He got a quick nod in return. “It’s a bit of a joke really. Dolley and I met when we were going over scales in music class. The teacher yelled at me because I was just saying the words instead of changing notes and then Dolley jumped down the poor lady’s throat.” James laughed at the memory while he inverted the finished Bundt cake onto a rack to cool. “We both got sent home with bad behavior notes, but we became best friends afterwards.”

“That’s adorable.” Jefferson pulled off a section of sugar and looked to be shaping it into a rose petal. “But you know scales now, don’t you?”

James flushed a little. “No, I’m pretty tone-deaf. Dolley likes to say I sound like a cat getting run over by a monster truck. Slowly.”

“Well, that’s an image.” Jefferson wrinkled his nose. “That’s too bad, though. I love singing.” A grin flashed a across his face. “ _Do, a deer, a female deer—re, a pocket full of sun—me, a name, I call myself_ —“

“Seriously?” James shook his head, but Jefferson just laughed. He had to admit, the man did have a nice singing voice.

He shrugged. “It seemed appropriate.” He rolled a bit of sugar into the middle of the candy rose. “My youngest just watched _Sound of Music_ in class, so she’s been singing it non-stop.”

Dolley chose that moment to peek into the kitchen. “Jefferson, there’re some young ladies out here for you.”

Jefferson carefully put down his work. “I guess Patsy finally gave into Maria’s whining. She’s been begging her to come here the past few days.” He looked to James and got a nod.

“You can go see them. I’m a grump, not an asshole.”

That got Jefferson laughing. “Would you like to meet them? They’re a handful, but I think they inherited my charm.”

“Then I’m sure they’re a scream,” James said, but followed him out of the kitchen regardless.

Two girls were inspecting all the display cases, the smaller one—she couldn’t have been older than 8—oohing and aahing at everything. A particularly flowery cake caught the eye of the older girl, who was probably in high school. They both looked a lot like Jefferson, James decided. Though, the older one looked a lot like that picture he’d seen of—James wiped that thought from his head.

“Your old man decorated that one, Patsy,” Jefferson said. The two girls looked up. “Impressed?”

“Impressed you haven’t been making candy doilies since you’re so old,” Patsy replied. Jefferson gasped and clutched at his chest. “You’re so dramatic, Dad.”

“Daddy,” the little one asked, “Can we have cake? I ate all my carrots at school today!”

The smile Jefferson shot his youngest was broad and reached up into his eyes. “Is that true, Maria? I’m very proud. You can have one piece of cake, okay?”

James found himself kneeling in front of Maria. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say it, but he asked, “What kind of cake do you like?” When James glanced at Jefferson, he found his eyes wide in surprise.

“Um, um, it’s a really soft cake. When momma would make it,” the words caused the other two Jeffersons to flinch, “she’d go ‘Turn that frown upside down!’ and it was really sweet and yummy.”

“Pineapple upside-down cake?” James guessed. The little girl nodded. “I can’t promise it’ll be like your mom’s, but I can make you some, if you’re willing to wait.” He turned to Jefferson. “If that’s okay with you.”

For a moment, Jefferson looked to have something stuck in his throat. “Yeah, that’s very kind of you.” The man was staring right into his eyes.

“I can wait! Make some!” Maria’s voice broke the weird moment James had been having with Jefferson.

“Maria, what do we say when we ask someone for something?”

Maria looked up from under her lashes, lower lip puffed out, “Please? Just don’t let Daddy bake it. He burns everything. He’s only good at the emetic.”

“You were right, Mr. Jefferson. She does have your charm.” James and Dolley both laughed at Jefferson’s frown.

“It’s _aesthetic_ , hon, and I don’t burn _everything_.”

“Just most things,” Patsy quipped, sending James and Dolley into another laughing fit.

“Pretty sure I’m the one who’s supposed to embarrass you two,” the man muttered.

“Come on, I’m sure we can find a way for you to help without charring something.” James grinned at him and waved his decorator into the kitchen.

They began their work in silence. Jefferson chose to work on his rose petals until he could be of assistance in making the pineapple upside-down cake.

“About my wife…” Jefferson spoke up, but trailed off like he wasn't sure what he'd planned to say.

“You don’t have to talk about it. I,” James tried to figure out how to phrase his words, “I was curious, so I looked up your bakery. I thought that I’d found a news article about it, but it wasn’t, well, about it.”

“I see.” Jefferson's voice cracked. “I closed the bakery after Martha died,” he continued, shaky in every sense. “She was the baker and I would never dream of giving that job to someone else. She and I built that place from the ground up. 17 years. We ran that bakery for 17 years.” James looked over when he heard Jefferson grip the edge of the counter. “She was non-stop. Never let anyone give’er shit. She worked through each pregnancy and nearly killed me for fussing over her.”

James stopped what he was doing to move to Jefferson's side. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he kept his voice low. “She sounds pretty incredible.”

“She was.” Jefferson turned to him with a watery smile. “You remind me of her,” he whispered. James’s eyes widened. “I really respect you for it. She'd have liked you.”

James matched his tone, “I think I’d have liked her too.” The silence sat in the air for a few moments. James left a light squeeze to Jefferson’s shoulder before sliding his hand down his arm, smiling. “Come on. We've got a cake to make.”

James just barely caught the soft expression and tiny ‘o' of Jefferson’s lips before he turned to get back to work. He handed over a pineapple for Jefferson to cut and shape how he pleased.

Awhile later, James watched as Jefferson carefully inspected the cake. He wondered if this was how it worked with Mrs. Jefferson. She’d make it and Jefferson would check it from all angles, make sure it looked acceptable, and together they’d put it out to sell.

James realized just how much of an experience gap there really was between them. Compared to the 17 years Jefferson had run _Beau Gâteau_ , James and Dolley had started Dough Re Mi a paltry 3 years ago—and half of that was getting the place fixed up and open. This whole time, James had assumed less of Jefferson since he tended to act so flippant and overconfident, but he was technically James’ senior. He considered reworking his original view of him.

“It’d be better if it was a cake I could ice, but it’ll do.”

James decided his original impression was still spot-on. “You make yourself out to be so great, but it sounds like you couldn’t make a Betty Crocker cake.”

Jefferson huffed, “I resent that. I promise they’re exaggerating.”

“Make me a cake and then I’ll believe you.” James smirked, thinking he’d won. He watched as Jefferson chewed on his lip.

“Fine,” He said, surprising James. Jefferson straightened his posture. “I’ll make you a cake and you’ll have to literally eat your words.”

“Just don’t give me food poisoning,” James joked.

“No promises.” Jefferson spoke in a much more serious voice than James would’ve liked, but then he smiled.

If anyone had walked in at that moment, they would’ve seen two men just smiling at each other over a pineapple upside-down cake. James wasn’t exactly sure what was happening, but he didn’t mind the warm feeling pooling in his stomach or the small smile that came to his face so easily and naturally.

A loud, high voice from the front cried, “Is it ready yet?”

Jefferson broke their moment to laugh at Maria’s antics. “I don’t know where she got her theatrics from.”

James quirked an eyebrow at him. “I have a couple guesses.” He carefully picked up the cake and started for the front. “You coming?” he called to Jefferson.

Jefferson nodded and jogged to walk by his side. “You know it.”

##

Thomas was having a crisis. That crisis was called Patsy Jefferson. His girl was smart, sometimes, he both feared and anticipated, more so than him. When Patsy caught wind of something, she didn’t let it go.

“How was your boyfriend today, Dad?” Patsy asked for the third night in a row when the three Jeffersons sat down for dinner.

It was Saturday, pizza night, the one night they were allowed to eat in the living room and watch a movie instead of eating at the table. He hadn’t even managed to pull _Mulan_ up on Netflix before getting interrogated.

“Mr. Madison is my boss, Patsy.”

“The eye-sex you were having with him a few days ago said otherwise.”

“Patsy!” he scolded. Thomas _did not_ have eye-sex with his boss, regardless of the fact that James Madison was a fairly attractive man.

“Daddy,” Maria said, “what’s eye-sex?”

Thomas groaned as Patsy started laughing hard enough to snort. “It’s not a phrase you should use, okay? I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Will I get cake if I don’t say it?”

Thomas shot a glare at his eldest, who was still trying to control her peals of laughter. “Maybe, but you have to prove you can be good first, okay?”

“Okay!” If only it was that easy to get Patsy to stop bugging him about Madison.

Thankfully, they got through the rest of dinner without issue. By the time Maria’s bedtime came, she had declared _Mulan_ her new favorite movie and begged him to put it on next week as well. Thomas put her to bed with a forehead kiss and a promise to think about it. He retreated to the kitchen for some coffee and to search through the Jefferson recipe book.

“It’d be okay if you did want to date him, Dad.” Patsy materialized out of nowhere and sat down at the breakfast bar. “She’d want you to be happy.”

“Patsy,” Jefferson started, putting down the book he hadn’t even opened yet, “Mr. Madison and I aren’t together and likely never will be.” He stood on the other side of the bar and ruffled her hair. “But, thank you. I’m just not ready for that yet, darlin’. It’s still a little too fresh for your old man.”

“Dad, it’s been three years.”

Three years or not, Thomas still woke up expecting a sleepy kiss and a complaint about morning breath. He still had a hard time sleeping because the bed was too big and empty and cold. He still saw her in every bakery, still thought of her whenever he iced one of Madison’s cakes. He still wore both their wedding rings around his neck. He’d spent half his life with Martha and no amount of time could erase the void she left in his soul.

He knew his Patsy was trying to be encouraging, but Thomas knew his daughter better than he knew himself. She was old enough to understand why her mother was in and out of the hospital, why she got sicker and sicker, why she was there one day and not the next. Maria still mourned, but she hadn’t quite understood it as well as Patsy and he did, being so young.

Thomas always feared Martha’s passing made Patsy grow up too quickly. She was 13 when her mother died, but she immediately resolved to shield Maria from the grief she and Thomas had been buried under. He was proud of her for being such a good big sister, certainly better than all of his own sisters, but he knew it still hurt for her too. Yet, here she was acting like a responsible adult, like the step-in mom she had become. She should be slamming doors and talking with her friends late into the night, but instead she was giving him a pep-talk.

“Three years doesn’t equal the nineteen years we were together.”

“So you’re gonna wait another 16 years before you try to find someone to be happy with again?” Patsy frowned and crossed her arms. God, she acted so much like Martha sometimes.

Jefferson moved around to sit on the barstool next to her. “Where’s all this coming from, hon? Why’s this mean so much to you?”

Her expression softened up. “You just seem so happy over there. I don’t think I’ve seen you like that since momma died. You just looked,” she seemed to struggle with what words to use. “I don’t know. When you came out with Mr. Madison, you were looking at him showing Maria that cake like you wanted to watch that happen every day.”

Had he really been mooning over Madison? Thomas supposed it was possible, but nothing but respect, admiration, and friendship had ever crossed his mind. Then again, that weird moment in the kitchen had happened.

“And I think he feels the same about you too,” Patsy added. She let out a sigh when he gave her an incredulous look. “Just think about it.” She kissed his cheek and headed up to her room. Thomas sat there and decided to do as his daughter had asked.

Did Madison like him that way? It could explain what that moment had been about. All Thomas could really recall from it was a comforting warmth flooding him, gravity lifting away, and a feeling like he was being pulled towards a magnet. It was a different feeling than he’d had with Martha.

Theirs had been like a dance. Sometimes it was a slow waltz, but more often it was something faster, more playful, like a foxtrot or the tango. He knew he’d always have the perfect dance partner, that she’d catch him if he tripped, forgive him if he stepped on her foot. He had vowed to do the same for her.

His dynamic with Madison was more like a game of chess. An immovable object and an unstoppable force. Equally matched, a constant competition that just made both of them want to play again. Every game just evened out the score.

Only, that hadn’t been true the other day. Madison had genuinely caught him off guard. He was the kind of man Thomas expected to be awkward about personal things and he’d expected an ‘I’m sorry’ instead of the comforting hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t expected Madison to murmur soft words at him or try to gently distract him from the sudden rush of grief that had overcome him.

Somehow, the baker had shifted his grief into something productive, followed up by a playful challenge, a chance to even the score. Whatever was happening between them, Thomas vowed to surprise Madison this time. If they were playing a game, then Thomas always played to win.

With that in mind, Thomas sipped at his coffee and picked the recipe book back up. He smoothed a hand over the cover and opened it to reveal a _Jefferson_ under _This Book Belongs to_. It was clearer and more precise than his own writing. He traced the letters, reliving each stroke Martha had put down of their shared name.

He turned each page carefully, searching for something to make. Everything his Martha made was impressive, but he needed something doable. He wasn't a baker for a reason, but he'd win this challenge. His eyes caught a cake he liked, one he remembered with a smile. This was the one.

Time to get to work.

#

When Patsy came downstairs for breakfast and looked between him and the state of the kitchen, she gave him a simple, “You look like shit,” before grabbing a banana and going back to her room. It said something about how tired he was that he didn't correct her language.

He considered heading straight to the bakery to have his victory, but a glance at his reflection in the screen of his phone and his daughter’s words made him think twice. Shower first, victory second. He covered his work, throwing a sticky note that read OFF LIMITS on it just in case, and went to make himself presentable.

Patsy was waiting for him when he came back downstairs. “Heading off to see Mr. Madison?”

“He challenged me and I’m about to show him who he’s messing with,” he replied. A large grin made its way onto his face at the thought. “Jeffersons always play to win.”

His daughter rolled her eyes at his theatrics. “You’re so dramatic, I swear.” She waved him away, sighing. “Just remember to bring home dinner after you tap that.”

“Patsy!” Thomas wasn’t sure how to react to his daughter’s blasé opinion on her father having sex with his boss—not that any of that would be happening, but still! Patsy didn’t seem bothered. “We’re gonna have to have a talk about this, young lady.”

“We can talk after you confess your love to Mr. Madison.” Goddammit, she acted more like Martha every day. Before he had the chance for a rebuttal, Patsy retreated back to her room, leaving Thomas to mutter about nosy daughters.

#

Thomas knew Madison would be at the bakery despite it being a Sunday, the one day Dough Re Mi was closed every week. The man worked every day regardless of the shop's hours.

Thomas knocked loudly on the front door, his work in hand. A flour-dusted Madison opened the door. He couldn’t help thinking how adorable he looked with flour all over his cheeks.

“You've got a little something on ‘ya,” he teased. Madison rolled his eyes at him. “You gonna let me in? I'm here to win.”

Madison glanced at the foil-covered plate and moved to clear the doorway. “I'd better not get sick from this; I have to work tomorrow.”

Thomas just grinned and placed the plate on the counter. “Have at,” he gestured to it.

Madison walked forward slowly, unnecessarily so, and Thomas realized that underneath the serious, no-nonsense baker, there was a man who could be just as dramatic as himself. Madison lifted the foil and studied the dessert beneath it.

"Pound cake?" he asked. "Not the easiest, but not a hard one either." Madison turned to him with a smile. "Trying to impress me?"

Thomas suddenly recalled Patsy's words, _"And I think he feels the same about you too."_ Madison's tone sounded more playful than he expected, almost... almost _flirty_. Holy shit.

He realized Madison was still waiting for a response and decided to up his game. "Maybe," he matched his tone. He moved to drape himself against one of the display cases. "I didn't think a boring old sheet cake would prove anything. It's actually lemon-blueberry pound cake." He retrieved one of the cake cutters from behind the register and handed it over with a flourish. "See for yourself."

Madison cut exactly a quarter inch from the edge of the cake, letting the lemon-glazed slice fall forward onto the plate. Blue polka-dots were spread across the insides. He hummed in approval and continued to slice through the cake. Thomas knew exactly what he was looking for.

"It's baked all the way through," Thomas said. "You can't fool me. I know you're looking for that because of how thick pound cake is, and adding fruit introduces more liquid that needs to be accounted for." He decided to take a risk and throw his arm around Madison's shoulders. "I win."

Madison looked up at him, a glint still in his eyes. "Not quite, Mr. Jefferson. I haven't tasted it yet." He picked up one of the cake slices and bit into it. He kept a straight face as he ate the cake, not even making a sound. Finished, he wiped his hands on his apron and turned to face Thomas without dislodging the arm around his shoulders. "Not bad," he admitted. "It's still a bit soggy, but it's baked all the way through and tastes good. You win."

Thomas' grin intensified. "So, what's my prize then?" That sounded more suggestive than he had meant it to, but it was too late to take it back now.

"I suppose I have to finally call you Thomas."

"Then, may I call you James instead of Mr. Madison?"

"I think I can agree to that, Thomas." The sound of his name on James' lips was doing some interesting things to his palpitating heart.

"A pleasure doing business with you, James."

Thomas knew it was happening again. They were having a strange moment where they just stared at each other. He was starting to notice things, like how James' eyes looked like dark chocolate and how the flour on his face pronounced the man's laugh lines and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. His lips looked peach fuzz soft and for a dizzying moment Thomas wondered if he'd taste like the lemon-blueberry cake from Martha's—

And just like that, the moment was gone. Thomas broke their gaze, drowning in guilt. How could he do this? It had only been three years, not nearly long enough for it to be okay for him to move on. Maybe in another ten or twenty, he wouldn't feel like he was betraying his sweet Martha. He took back his arm and kept his eyes firmly on the ground.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning then?" He was almost proud of how steady his voice was.

"Of course," James said, sounding disappointed. He stepped back. "See you tomorrow, Thomas."

Thomas made his way to the door. "See you tomorrow, James."

He could hear his heart breaking as he drove home, both for Martha and James. Thomas was just beginning to realize that this was even more complicated than he and his daughter had hoped. He fought to keep his eyes from blurring with tears.

When Thomas arrived home with teary eyes and no dinner, Patsy kissed his cheek and ordered Chinese for them. He curled up in the dark of his room until it arrived.

Patsy stopped asking about James.

##

James sat at Dolley's kitchen table, head in his hands. His best friend was rubbing soothing circles on his back while Angelica stood by for support, but it wasn't helping as much as it usually would. James slumped forward to rest his forehead on the table and made a pitiful sound.

"Jemmy, it's okay," Dolley said.

"No, Doll, it's not! I'm such an idiot." His hands were itching for something to do, eggs to beat, flour to mix, but he knew he was upset enough to ruin the bakery's kitchen if he tried to stress-bake. "What was I thinking?"

"That you like him and maybe he likes you?" She sat down beside him.

"I didn't even mean to do it," he sighed. James brought his arms under his head. "I was just trying to tease him, but somehow it turned into flirting and then he started _flirting back_ and put his arm around me and I thought—" To be honest, he wasn't even sure what he thought. He lowered his voice to a mumble. "You should've seen him, Dolley. One moment I thought something was gonna happen and the next he looked like he'd start crying."

"That's not your fault, hon." She took one his hands into hers, but he pulled away.

"But it is! A few days ago, he was nearly in tears telling me about his wife and here I am, trying to flirt with him. He's obviously still grieving and I'm basically taking advantage of his vulnerability."

"No, you're not, James," Angelica spoke up. "He's a grown-ass man. He flirted with you as well and realized he wasn't ready. You're not at fault for that."

He ran a hand through his short hair. "Maybe. I'm finding it hard to convince myself of that."

"We know," Dolley said. "Come on, I'll order us some shitty Chinese food and we can veg out. You can stay over." She wrapped him up in a warm hug and Angelica put a hand on his shoulder.

"What did I ever do to deserve you two?"

Dolley smiled at him. "You sang really off-key."

"You're my wife's best friend," Angelica added. "And you make some bomb-ass cake."

For the first time that night, James smiled. "Then I'll have to bring some next time to bribe you into staying friends with me."

#

A man of his word, Thomas was waiting outside for James to unlock the shop the next morning. James tried to keep it cool and nodded to him like every morning thus far, though it seemed to come out more like a head jerk.

They worked in silence for a while, a silence James had once preferred. Now, it felt cold and impersonal, the two things he originally, and should still for everyone's sake, wanted.

"You never told me the story about you becoming a cake decorator," James said. "I'm curious if I can relate."

"Oh?" He didn't look up from the cake pops he was decorating.

"I'm from Virginia too, actually," James offered awkwardly, mixing some pumpkin pie spice into the bowl. "We might've even had a similar upbringing."

That seemed to give Thomas pause. He turned to watch James fill three separate pans for a layer cake. "How so?"

"Senator Madison? He's my father. I was surprised to hear you somehow came into the same business. Funny, how life works."

"Well," Thomas finally smiled the first time that morning. "I'll tell mine if you'll tell yours."

"Deal."

Thomas turned back around to continue his work, but kept his voice loud enough to be heard. "My father had hoped I would follow his lead and go into politics like him, but it didn't interest me as much as creative pursuits—I'm actually a certified architect, y'know—and so I refused to do law or the like.” He iced on some purple polka-dots. “I had my own ideas and I finally compromised with him by becoming a business major in college. I took some more artsy classes on the side without his knowledge.

"I met Martha halfway through college." He smiled softly, presumably reliving the memory. "Contrary to popular belief, we didn't really get a good first impression of each other. She thought I was a pompous idiot, and I thought she was a know-it-all upstart, so we became rivals.” He chuckled and James let out a little laugh of his own. “Eventually, we were paired up for an assignment and we realized we worked better together than against each other. We became best friends, then dated. She was from a well-off enough family that my father didn't put up a fuss when I asked for her hand. Well, at first." Thomas paused. "I'm actually surprised you never heard about it."

"I left Virginia immediately after college," James replied, frowning at the pan in front of him. "I'm not on the best terms with the senator."

Thomas was wise not to comment on that. "Straight out of college, Martha and I started the bakery. My father was furious since he expected me to go into something _more respectable_ ," he spit the words. James had no doubt it was a quote. "He kept pushing for me to do something else and to divorce Martha, but I was an adult, I loved Martha, and the money I was using for the bakery was my own. He stopped once he realized everyone in town loved the place. He was getting comments on how great it was that his son started a small business of his own, how kind and inviting my wife was, and all that.” He carefully placed another cake pop in a jar before continuing.

"He started using it for publicity, of course. I was furious about it, but Martha kept me from ripping him a new one since he'd finally stopped working against us. I _did_ rip him a new one after John... I had a son at one point, but he died a few weeks after he was born from SIDS. That ass used it to look like a grieving grandfather when he hadn't even come to the funeral. Voters love emotions," he growled. James noted the white-knuckle grip he had on the next pop’s stick as he swirled food coloring into the layer cake. "I wish I could drag him through the mud, but I wouldn't do that to my mother. He started sending me money after Martha died and I closed the bakery. He knew there was nothing holding me back from exposing him now, but I never have and never will touch that money. I'll happily hand it off to Patsy and Maria when they go to college." He sighed, "That's my story, long-winded and dramatic."

"Seems appropriate, considering _you're_ long-winded and dramatic." James laughed when Thomas threw him a glare. "My story isn't long or dramatic, really. I did go into law like my father wanted, but I didn't mind. Learning has always been something I enjoyed. Dolley went into business, like you, and excelled.” James put the pans in the oven. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “When I was set to graduate, I was confident. I had finally worked up the nerve to tell my parents I was gay." He pursed his lips, reliving the experience in his head. "It didn't end well. I was disowned. I stayed with Dolley since her folks still love me and got a job as a paralegal for a while. One year, I decided to make a cake from scratch for Dolley's birthday since I couldn’t afford a real present. I hate having to cook, but oddly enough, I loved baking. It stayed a hobby for a long time or something I'd do when stressed."

"So, how'd you end up turning that into a business?" He’d moved on to dipping a new cake pop in pink chocolate

"I'm getting there!" James raised an eyebrow at him. "As interesting as I found law to be, it eventually became a challenge to get through the work day. The stress ruined my health, so I was always sick one way or another.” He began measuring out ingredients for chocolate croissants. “Dolley came to me one day after a particularly bad case of the flu and suggested we start a bakery. I was actually pretty against it since I didn't have the training and we didn't have the financial capital to start a business.”

He took a knife and chopped up a bar of chocolate for the filling. "The idea kept nagging at me, though, so I eventually caved and made myself part-time at the firm to attend pastry school while we both saved up. Three years ago, we finally saved enough to get the bakery started, we hired John at the outset to be the cake decorator, and here we are.”

“A real American Dream,” Thomas pointed out. “We’re certainly a couple of oddballs. Two politicians’ sons from the same place both went into baking and didn’t meet until they’d both moved out of the state.” He dipped another pop, this time into red chocolate.

“In another life we might’ve been childhood friends.” James considered this for a moment and then decided Thomas had probably been more obnoxious as a child. He added, as a joke, “And I’d have written the Bill of Rights.”

Thomas let out the most adorable—he really needed to stop that train of thought—snort. “Only if I wrote the Declaration of Independence.”

“And then we both became presidents,” James said. That earned him another laugh. “Our parents would’ve loved that one, huh?” He realized what he’d said too late, but Thomas smiled.

“I’m sure they still would, but I’d prefer getting shot to running for president.”

“Thomas!” James put down his knife to look straight at him.. “Don’t say things like that!”

“I never said I _wanted_ to get shot. I’d rather die of old age with my family around for me to say goodbye.” His words were morbid, but he was humming as he worked now.

“This is getting darker than I had imagined at the start of our conversation.”

“It happens.” For whatever reason, that set off another round of chuckles between them.

The day progressed much more pleasantly. James was beginning to feel like maybe this whole temp situation wasn’t too bad.

#

The phone rang early in the morning that Friday. Dolley was busy with the morning rush, so James answered it despite his hatred of talking on the phone.

“Thank you for calling Dough Re Mi. This is James. How may I help you?” James gave his generic phone greeting.

“Hey, Mr. Madison!” John’s voice on the other line had James relaxing. “Alex is finally able to do things by himself without aggravating his injuries, so I can come back in first thing Monday.”

“That’s good.” For some reason, James frowned instead of being relieved. “I’ll see you Monday then. I’ll have our temp,” James paused, realizing why he wasn’t happy about John coming back. “I’ll have him finish up any cakes I make Sunday so you can start fresh.”

“Roger that, boss. Thanks again, by the way,” John said. “My boyfriend’s a dumbass and I really appreciate you letting me stay with him. I know I probably put a lot of stress on you.”

“It’s fine,” James assured him. “Just tell Alex he’s an idiot and doesn’t deserve you for me. You’ll have to tell me about this duel when you get back.”

“Will do! I’ll see you Monday, Mr. Madison.”

“See you Monday, John.” With that, he hung up the phone, a pit forming in his stomach.

Dolley found him frowning at the phone when she finished with the rush. “Who was at the phone?”

“John. He’s coming back Monday.”

“That’s great!” Dolley registered his face. “Or not…?”

“No, no, it’s good. I should go tell Thomas.”

Thomas was taking a short break, stretching out all the muscles he’d strained bending over his workspace. James wondered if Thomas would come by again, just to talk or grab a pastry for Patsy and Maria. This wouldn’t be the last few days they saw each other, right? John would need other days off, surely, so Thomas could fill in! It was cruel irony that the one thing James had looked forward to two weeks ago was now something he was dreading.

He cleared his throat to get Thomas’ attention. He had to pause when Thomas’ dark eyes caught his and James marveled at the color, a pretty brown like the baked walnuts he'd put in that day's banana bread.

“What's up Jemmy-James?” He grinned at him and James died a little inside knowing what he was about to say (he was being melodramatic, he knew, so sue him). It hurt more that he'd just called him something so casual and friendly.

“John, our regular decorator,” James took a deep breath. “He’ll be coming back Monday.”

The grin slipped from his face and James immediately missed it. The room felt a little colder without it.

“Oh,” he said. “That's…good. I'm glad.”

James struggled to salvage the situation. “I've appreciated your help the last two weeks. If you're interested, you'd be welcome to fill in for John anytime he can't be here.”

That brought a spark back to Thomas’ eyes. “I'd love that.”

“Good.” James shifted his weight back and forth. “Yes, um, good.  I'm going to finish up these mille crepes.”

##

Sunday came too quickly for Thomas’ liking. He'd agreed to come in and ice the pastries James would make for Monday so John wouldn't be overwhelmed.

Thomas enjoyed the pleasant silence between them, but it felt like too little. It might be the last they see each other for awhile unless Thomas came to visit or John called out again. More than anything, Thomas wanted whatever between them to be resolved. He needed James to know his guilt, how he's been stuck between him and his grief for Martha. He needed him to understand before he left.

“James?” Thomas paused in his work.

James looked up from the mixer to focus on him. “Yes?”

He took a breath. “I—”

An obnoxious knock on the front door startled them both. The two men exchanged looks before leaving the kitchen. There was a burly man standing outside the glass, but it was already dark outside, so his face was obscured.

James unlocked the door. “I'm sorry, sir. We’re not—” James took a step back and Thomas knew something was wrong. “Dad?”

Well, damn. The man pushed his way through the door and removed his cap. That was James’ dad alright, an exact replica save for the towering height difference.

Despite the man being nearly as tall as Thomas, James stood straight, a hostile expression on his face that he'd never seen. The baker’s eyebrows were slanted down in a sharp diagonal line. A thin frown marred his usually calm face. The only hint of nervousness was in his hands, shaking just the slightest bit.

Thomas came to stand by his side. James glanced at him and seemed to relax some. James’ father, if you could call him that after disowning his own son, was almost eye level with him, but a spark of satisfaction ran through him knowing he still loomed over him.

Mr. Madison sized him up. Thomas stood his ground. He'd never seen such a disdainful expression on someone's face.

“What are you doing here?” James growled. “You're not welcome here!”

Mr. Madison didn’t seem to care. “So, you went from the respectable practice of law to a fucking bakery.” He sneered and Thomas nearly punched him. “I guess you weren't lying all those years ago when you said you were a fag. This man your fuck buddy?”

“Actually,” Thomas cut in before James attacked him. The baker already had his fist balled up and twisted for a punch. “I’m his cake decorator and I don’t like your tone or your words. This a _respectable_ ,” he spit the word back at him, “place of business, sir, and if you aren't here to be civil then I'll gladly escort you out.”

“Thomas—”

“Thomas?” he interrupted. “Well I'll be damned. I knew you looked familiar. You must be Jefferson’s boy.” The man smiled the way Thomas would grimace. “At least I'm not the only one with a problem child, then. Such a shame your wife passed. Those kids—”

“Say one word about my daughters and I'll sling so much mud at you, you'll be buried under it.”

The man _hmmph_ ed but didn't continue his words. “You would've made a fine senator or congressman—but I'm not here about that.” He turned his attention back to James. “Your mother is dead.”

“ _What?_ ” The look on his face was painted in grief, all wide, watering eyes and a slack-jawed mouth. “What happened?”

“She was sick,” he replied. “Her funeral was last week and now I have to go through her will.”

“Are you saying,” James began, “that mom had been sick and you didn't call me?” He grabbed his father's forearm and jerked it forward. His voice rose in pitch and volume. “You didn't even call me to go to her funeral?”

“You're not our son anymore, so of course not.” He didn’t look even the least bit guilty. “But, your mother's will stated that I needed to hand-deliver a letter she wrote to you and have you present to read the rest of her will.” The man shoved a crumpled envelope into James’ hands and took back his arm. “Your hours say you close early on Fridays. I'll be expecting you to read the will with me. The address and time are in that envelope with the letter.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t be late.”

With that, he stepped out of the shop as if he hadn’t just bulldozed his way in and then over James. The man was shaking, but he waited until he could no longer see his father's shadow before letting go.

Even with his head down, Thomas could see the splotchy red of his face. He could spot streams of tears running over his cheeks. The envelope was being crushed in his hand hard enough that it might just combust.

Thomas couldn’t stand it. He couldn't stand what that piss-poor excuse for a father kept putting James through. He couldn't stand how he'd broken him so easily and carelessly.

And he wouldn't stand for it.

Thomas wrapped his arms around the smaller man, tracing shapes on his back. James grasped at his shirt and cried into his chest like a small child. He cooed and shushed him just as he did with his girls. Eventually, the tears ran dry and the stuttering breaths evened out.

“Let's go,” he whispered. “We’ll clean up and go home.”

“No,” he mumbled, voice rough. “No, I—I have to bake something, anything, everything.” He was still shaking and Thomas feared he collapse in on himself. “I can't—”

“But you can and you should,” Thomas said. He ran a hand gently over James’ hair. “You need sleep. Tonight isn't the only night you'll have to grieve.” He shushed another round of hiccupping tears. “In fact, come home with me.”

“I couldn’t. I’d be intruding.” James backed off. Thomas already missed holding him.

“You could,” he assured him. “We have a guest room and my daughters like you. They wouldn't mind. They'd understand.”

James bit his lip and did his best to chew it to shreds. Thomas could see the struggle in his eyes between wanting to be alone and needing to be with someone.

“Ok,” he talked so softly, Thomas barely heard him. “I'll go with you after we clean up.”

That was good. The initial shock was the worst part. Thomas didn't want James to be alone for it. Thomas wouldn't let him be alone.

He sent a quick text to Dolley and another to Patsy before getting to work.

##

The ride to Thomas’ house was a blur like everything else that happened after the bomb had been dropped, the carpet pulled out from under him. His mother had died, and he didn't even get to say goodbye to her.

The envelope was still in his hand, stuck there like a leech sucking the life from him. He felt numb, the kind of numb that came with New York winters and a -10 wind chill.  He wasn't sure if the numbness was worse than the aching pain yet.

He wanted to be angry, to be furious, to finally give his father what was coming to him, but he couldn't. He couldn't summon the energy. It just kept slipping out of his fingers like trying to grasp melted butter and as an impossible a task as getting oil off your hands or keeping flour away from your clothes.

In any other situation, James might find humor in the unnecessary amount of baking metaphors he just made, but it wasn't that kind of day. Right now, he was just glad he wouldn't be alone. He wanted to be alone, but he wanted someone to be there at the same time. Usually, he'd go to Dolley, but she wasn't there. She didn't hear the flat tone of his father's voice, see the crooked smirk as he insulted him, and she’d never understand his dysfunctional relationship with his father.

James glanced to his left, watching the city lights pass over Thomas' face. He understood. If anyone could, it'd be him. How was he meant to give this up tomorrow? It was unthinkable to believe Thomas would want anything to do with someone with so many issues, including ones he hadn’t seen in the short time they'd worked together.

Thomas had children to think of. He had no time for James’ daddy issues, frequent trips to the hospital, days he fought to get out of bed. James wouldn’t want him to take him from his kids even if Thomas was willing to make the time.

Thomas caught his staring and gave him a small smile. With his eyes on the road ahead, he smoothed a hand across the gearshift and onto his own. The tender gesture brought a fresh round of tears to his eyes. He placed his other hand over Thomas’ as he was overcome with a memory.

_James was stuck in bed again. The little boy was always stuck in bed. He basically lived in it._

_He looked out his window. The view made him feel worse than his sickness (the stomach flu this week). Kids his age were playing kickball, running and laughing and yelling at each other. Meanwhile, he was confined to the house, choking down gross, sour medicine and trying not to puke._

_James turned over to smother his sobbing noises. He'd never get to play outside. He'd have no friends because eventually Dolley would get bored of staying inside with him and bringing him his homework. He'd live and die in this stupid bed. James was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn't hear his door creak open._

_“Jemmy-James?” James looked up to find his mother, all 5'2” of her, coming to sit on the edge of his bed. “What's wrong, honey bun?”_

_He sniffled and hoped she'd take it as him being sick. “Nothing, mama. I just don't feel well.”_

_“Honey,” she began in a sweet tone, “You're sick, but I know that's not what that was. A mother knows.” She carded through his sweaty hair before placing her hand over his. “I'm here for you, Jemmy. Don't ever be afraid to tell me the truth.”_

“James?” Thomas’ voice snapped him out of his memory. “We're here.”

James exited the car to find a quaint two-story. It was a lot less ostentatious than he'd expected, but still a pleasant brick color with white accents.

He managed to remark, “I expected more purple.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, but he didn't hide the smile James earned. “Come on, we’ll get you set up.”

He followed his friend (could he call him a friend? His actions tonight implied it, but they'd known each other barely two weeks.) into the house. Somehow, he hadn't expected it to look like two girls lived there. He could see through the open arrangement that there were crayon masterpieces on the fridge, homework and textbooks scattered over the kitchen table, pink and purple stuffed animals in the living room, and a tower of Disney movies by the TV.  Despite his self-professed fear of kids, the environment only felt warm, like the house embodied the family within it.

He noticed Thomas staring at him. “It's nice.”

“You truly are a man of few words, James Madison.”

James flinched at hearing his surname, a reminder of his father. Thomas seemed to realize his mistake and chose to lead him upstairs. They took a turn to the right into a bedroom.

A dark blue comforter lay over the bed. The shades were drawn, casting shadows on the desk beside the window. A plush armchair was placed next to a bookshelf filled to the brim. Tan wardrobes had bric-a-brac on them, from little crystal animals to framed photos. His eyes caught a portrait of a younger Thomas in a suit, a beautiful woman in a wedding dress in his arms.

“You can stay in mine. It has an en suite so you won't have to venture out if you don't feel up to it. Feel free to borrow my pajamas, though you'll probably end up swimming in them.”

He wanted to argue the offer, but he was too exhausted. Instead, he just said, “thank you.” James wondered if he should risk it, if it'd be going too far to ask. “Is this,” he gestured to the photo, “you and your wife?”

James feared he'd upset him, but instead he picked up the frame and ran a hand over the woman's face. “Yeah,” he breathed. “The second happiest day of my life.”

“Second?”

He looked up from the picture to smile. “Patsy and Maria bring born are tied for first.”

James marveled at the man before him. He'd gone through so much, dealing with his own dysfunctional father, losing a child, losing his wife, shutting down the place he'd built with her. How could he manage to smile like that, like it was okay that the sun was still out and the world still turned? He smiled like he had everything he wanted.

“How do you do it? Keep going and smiling?” He moved to sit on the bed and Thomas joined him.

“Time waits for no man,” he replied. “But more so, children wait for no parent. Patsy was nearly in high school, Maria was about to start kindergarten; I couldn't afford to hurt them with my grief. I mourned, Patsy mourned, but I kept smiling for them.” Thomas took one of his hands in his own. “It's easier if you find something, someone, that you need to keep smiling for. It reminds you why you're here.”

James felt himself start shaking again. He almost didn't catch the odd expression on Thomas’ face, head tilted and eyes narrowed slightly like he'd just figured something out. The man slid an arm around him and James allowed himself to bury his head into Thomas’ shoulder and take short, gasping breaths that morphed into tears.

“I—I don’t know what I have to smile for.”

Thomas quietly shushed him, rubbing shapes on his back. “You'll find something.”

James had the terrible feeling he already found it. How could he smile for something he was about to lose? Tomorrow, he’d say goodbye to the Jeffersons and be alone again. No over-the-top man who managed to surprise him everyday, no teasing, no self-satisfied smirks, none of that.

His grip tightened on Thomas. “Stay,” his voice cracked on the words, wondering if Thomas could somehow hear the real meaning. “Please.”

Thomas pulled slightly away and James nearly broke, thinking he was leaving. He tipped James chin up with a gentle hand so they were making eye contact. “I'm not going anywhere, darlin'.”

James took a stuttering breath and held on until he gave into his exhaustion.

#

When James woke up, he had a second of panic when he didn’t recognize his surroundings. He soon remembered where he was, followed by _why_ he was here (the dried tears on his face and the ache in his chest reminded him real fast), in Thomas' bed. When he came back to himself, he became aware of how oddly warm his hand was. He looked to his side and found the cause.

Thomas had moved the armchair to sit beside the bed. Even in his sleep, he kept a hold on James' hand. He’d really stayed. He didn’t just stay until he fell asleep, he stayed there the whole night.

He took advantage of the quiet moment to observe. Thomas had his face half-smushed into the chair, his hair flattened on one side. He had his feet under him to curl up into a ball. While James had fallen asleep in his clothes, Thomas had thrown on red and white snowflake pajamas. The sight was honestly adorable. When he looked away, he noted the envelope he’d been given last night on the bedside table.

James reached for it, figuring he might as well get it over with. The movement jostled Thomas’ arm, causing the other man to groan and make his eyes flutter open. Eventually, his brown orbs landed on James.

“G’morning,” he said with a sleepy smile. God, wasn’t that a face James wanted to see every day. “You feeling okay?”

Was he? He still had an empty hole in his heart and a numbness in his head, but the shock of pain was gone, for now. “I think so.”

“That’s good,” he said. Thomas got up to stretch, loosening the hold on his hand; James let him go. James took the envelope off the bedside table, but Thomas stopped him. “Let’s have breakfast first. We don’t know what’s in it. It’d be better to start your day with something good.”

With a jolt, James gave a double-take at the alarm clock and realized he’d _started his day_ incredibly late. “Shit, I was supposed to be at the bakery hours ago!” He jumped out of the bed, but Thomas caught his arm. “Thomas, I’m extremely late—”

“I already told Dolley you can’t come in today,” he said. “There’s enough pastries to last the day. Take some time to collect yourself, okay?”

“You can’t decide that for me,” he growled. Why was he so angry about something so trivial? “That bakery is my life; you don't get to decide whether or not I should be working.”

Thomas didn't even finch at his harsh tone. “I know,” he said. “I know I overstepped, but do you think you would've been helpful or productive?”

James considered continuing to argue, maybe even yelling, but a quick list of things Thomas had done for him in the past 24 hours and the fact that he was right made him deflate. “You’re right, but that was definitely overstepping.”

Thomas nodded. “Duly noted. Come on, I’ll make pancakes.” He led James out and into the kitchen.

“You can make pancakes?”

“Not real ones,” a voice from behind him said. James turned to find Patsy already dressed with a messenger bag slung over her shoulder. “He uses pancake mix and even then, I usually have to keep a close eye on it.”

This caused Thomas to start grumbling about teenagers. “Why is my own daughter so mean to me?

James gestured to the fridge. “May I?” He got a quick nod and searched for what he needed, taking things out and placing them on the counter. A quick survey of the cabinets got him the rest of what he needed. “We’re going to make real pancakes.”

“Damn, I’m gonna miss real pancakes?” Patsy frowned.

“Language, young lady.” Thomas shook his finger at her, but kissed her cheek. “Go on, it’s time for school. Do you mind driving Maria?”

“Can do, Papa.” She kissed his cheek in return and gave James a wave before heading out the door.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t start without me.” He winked. James rolled his eyes, feeling the warmth of familiarity in their interaction. Thomas disappeared back upstairs and came down with Maria in his arms a few minutes later.

“Mr. Madison!” Maria’s face lit up. “Mr. Madison! Your cake was _so_ good! Are you gonna make another?” She held her hands out, reaching for him.

James panicked when Thomas casually handed her over. A million thoughts ran through his head about whether he was holding her right or if he’d drop her. “I—uh, actually, we’re making pancakes.” Her face fell, likely realizing she wouldn’t be getting any. James looked between Thomas and Maria and tried to recover. “We can make something when you come home, if you want.”

“Yay!” She wrapped her arms around his neck to give him a hug. “Thank you, Mr. Madison!” She planted a kiss on his cheek, causing him to laugh.

Thomas took Maria back with a grin on his face. He took the little girl outside, presumably to hand her off to Patsy. He returned shortly, still grinning.

“I thought you were afraid of kids?”

James flushed. “Me too. I guess it helps that Maria wants me for cake.”

“She’d do anything for cake.” Thomas looked over the items scattered over the counter. “So, where do we start?”

“You mix, I’ll cook?”

“Deal.”

The two men worked in silence, relaxing to the sound of a whisk scraping against a mixing bowl and the sizzling of the cooking pancakes. This was what James needed. The simple, repetitive movements, the smell of something sweet, and the quiet company of another person. He didn’t usually include the last one, but it was definitely on the list now.

“Thank you,” he broke the silence. “For staying.”

Thomas paused in his mixing. “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

James considered letting it end there, but he decided to voice his thoughts. “You don’t work at the bakery anymore, though.” He tried not to sound as miserable as he felt about it.

“Am I banned from the store?” he teased. “I’ll be over often enough, you’ll be begging me to leave.”

“Doubt it.” He flipped a pancake and continued to stare at it.

“That I’ll be over a lot?”

James didn’t think before whispering, “that I’d want you to leave.”

He heard Thomas put down the bowl of pancake batter. He’d gone too far. He shouldn’t have said that so, so _longingly_. God, he’d just ruined everything—

He felt a soft hand tilt his chin in Thomas’ direction and James recalled the same gesture from the night prior. Without the haze of overwhelming grief, James couldn’t help but feel his heart pick up and his breath catch. He searched Thomas’ face, from the quirk of his lips to his dark chocolate eyes, trying to read the situation.

“James,” Thomas breathed. His heart beat faster at how he’d said his name almost reverently. He blushed and shifted his gaze to the ground. “Come on, look at me, hon. There we go. I want to see those pretty eyes of yours.” He moved closer. James could feel his breaths. “I want to talk about this later, when it’s more appropriate, but first…”

Thomas leaned down and kissed him.

##

Thomas had realized something important last night. He’d been blind, a complete fool. His daughters weren’t the only ones he smiled for anymore and they’d seen it before he’d noticed. Last night, he held James and knew Martha would kill him for giving this man up.

He’d always love Martha, that wouldn’t change. He could still smile for their memories together. Now, James was here and Thomas wanted to smile at him, for him, and see him smile every single day. When James said he didn’t want Thomas to leave, he knew this was the chance he had to take.

It seemed to take a few seconds for James to register what was happening, but everything shifted when he did. The baker brought his hands up, one to rest on Thomas’ cheek and the other in his sleep-mussed hair. The feel of James’ calloused fingers on the sensitive skin of his face was doing things to him. Thomas caught the sigh that escaped the other man and kept it for himself.

He was out of breath and it had nothing to do with a lack of air. Why did he try to deny this? He trailed his hand down to pull James closer by his waist. James relaxed in his hold and Thomas took the chance to deepen the kiss, nipping at the other man’s bottom lip to get what he wanted. It was going a little farther than he’d planned, but he wasn’t going to complain. This was what he wanted, and he hoped it was what James wanted too.

##

He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted this until he had it, but James had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation for why he felt soft lips on his own, sending static down his spine. Well, if it was a dream, he might as well enjoy it. He finally managed to press back, threading a hand into Thomas’ hair.

An arm circled his waist and he sighed. It felt like floating in warm water, his mind relaxed, but the cold air kept his body on edge. It was better than some ridiculous fireworks or butterflies. This was understanding and relief.

James thought Thomas would pull away, but he deepened the kiss instead and—oh, okay. His heart wasn’t the only thing interested in the current situation. He pulled Thomas closer, wondering how far they could take this—

The smell of smoke and the shrieking of the fire alarm snapped them out of their kiss. James looked over to find the burnt remains of the pancake still on the stove.

“Whoops,” Thomas said, not sounding at all regretful. He switched off the stove and threw the pancake in the trash.

“I’d think I was dreaming if it weren’t for your obnoxious fire alarm.”

“Well, if you are, please don’t wake up. I’d be very disappointed.” He moved back to James’ side, taking one of his hands. “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere. I think we should wait on this conversation until everything is settled with your father, but just know this isn’t the last you’ll see of me.” Thomas winked at him. “Especially since you’re such a good kisser.”

James could feel his cheeks and the tips of his ears heat up. “Okay.” James looked over the disaster zone they’d made of the kitchen so he could breathe properly. “Keep making pancakes or settle for something else?”

“I’d be terribly disappointed if I couldn’t eat your pancakes.”

“ _Our_ pancakes.” James loved the mega-watt smile he got for his words. “Let’s finish this up then.”

#

James found himself sitting close to Thomas in the living room. The dreaded envelope sat on the coffee table next to the crumb-covered plates, taunting him. He reached for it, but couldn’t make himself open it. He just stared.

“Do you want me to open it?” Thomas rubbed his thumb over James’ hand.

James nodded. “Can you read it to me?” He let his head droop onto Thomas’ shoulder.

“Of course, darlin’.” Thomas took the envelope from him and opened it. He found the paper Mr. Madison left in there and put that aside. He pulled out and unfolded a handwritten letter. “Okay, here it is.” He squeezed his hand gently

“Dear Jemmy,

“The first thing I should probably say is I love you, and the second should be I’m sorry. I can’t pretend I haven’t wronged you. You’re my baby boy and I let my ignorance take precedence. I may never understand your choices—though I’ve heard from others that it might not be your choice—but I’m still your mother. I failed my duties to love and care for you. I’m sure I’ve ruined your trust in me, but I can only hope you might forgive me.”

James let out a short breath, followed by Thomas squeezing his hand again. James gave him another nod, so he continued.

“I wish I were strong enough to turn your father around, but I fear it’s too late for that. I wish you could come home. I wish that I could bring you home myself, but I can barely move from my bed, much less search you out.

“Regardless, I still looked you up. It was a surprise to find you’d started a bakery. Your father wasn’t as enthused as I was about it. It looked to me like you were finding your place in the world. That’s all a mother could ask for.”

James could feel himself tearing up again. What would it have been like for his mother to walk into his bakery, to see what he’d made with his own two hands?

“Before I go, and before your father makes an ass of himself, just know that I love you. Moreover, know that I’m so proud of you. You’ll always be my baby boy, and that’s why I wanted you to read my will with your father. I love him, but I think he should finally learn what his treatment of you has cost him. I’m sorry if this causes more animosity between you, but I wasn’t going to leave you out in the cold.

                                                            “I love you, James,

                                                            “Your adoring mother”

Thomas looked away from the letter. “That’s the whole of it.”

James sucked in another breath and took the paper and released Thomas’ hand. He read over it a few times, shaking. “I wish I could’ve been there to hear this from her. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time and see her…”

“I’m sure she felt the same.” Thomas asked, “how are you?”

James took stock of his emotions to find the answer. Grief, that was definitely still there, as was the anger and betrayal from his father’s callousness, but that wasn’t all. Was it relief? He could hardly call it joy, but, despite her passing, his mother’s words mended something in him. His father’s approval had always been secondary since he was an absentee parent at the best of times. It was his mother’s abandonment that hurt most. Now, she wrote that she had still loved him, that she was _proud_ of him.

“I’m okay,” he concluded. “It’s a lot to take in. I’ve been waiting for this almost 20 years. I finally got it, but it’s still just bittersweet.”

Thomas hummed in acknowledgement. “What do you think she meant in the last paragraph?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I’ll find out Friday.”

Thomas replaced the paper with his own hands, threading their fingers together. “Do you want me to be there with you?”

James contemplated it, but he already knew the answer. “No,” he said. “This is between my father and me. I need to face him.” He paused and chewed on his lip, wondering if he’d be overstepping. “Could I…see you, afterwards? Maybe we could have that conversation?”

“If that’s what you’d like, then I’m fine with that. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed. Thomas pulled him closer, into his arms. James allowed himself to relax, if only for this moment.

#

James went back to work the next day, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn't in a daze. He knew all his recipes by heart, so he made everything on automatic, glad that John could put actual emotion into his work.

He'd gone to Dolley and Angelica already to tell them the news. Dolley declared the need for a group hug and more shitty Chinese food. Having his best friend around helped. She knew everything that would help him, from the food to the terrible movies he liked to laugh at.

John was helpful in his own way too. He entertained him with the story of Alexander’s duel.

“He smack-talked an old friend of his and it cost the poor guy a job at Alex’s law firm that he really wanted, though Alex thought he wasn't suited for it.” He stepped back to use spray food coloring on a cake. “The both of them are so extra. They decided to meet at Weehawken and duel the old-fashioned way, guns and all. Problem was, Burr—his friend--didn't know his was loaded. They'd both neglected to check. They just wanted to know who’d shoot first, but Alex was smart enough to shoot into the sky.”

“He’s okay now, though?” James kept his eyes on the dough he was rolling out.

“Yeah, Burr felt so guilty that he's agreed to be on Alex-sitting duty.”

“You mean babysitting?”

“To be honest, it's the same thing with Alex.”

James managed to laugh at that. It made the day a little brighter. Another thing that helped:

“Honey, I'm home!” Thomas trekked across the bakery. James hoped he could hear his eye roll. The man poked his head into the kitchen.

“And here I thought Dolley was supposed to keep out nosy guests.” James smiled despite his words.

Thomas, thankfully, grabbed a disposable hairnet before entering. “You wound me, dear sir.” He didn’t even bother to consider John’s presence as he wrapped his arms around James from behind.

James huffed, but continued sifting his flour. He did his best to ignore the heat he felt creeping into his cheeks. “John, this Thomas Jefferson. He was your temp. Thomas, this is John Laurens, our usual decorator.”

“A pleasure,” Thomas said, temporarily taking one arm away from James’ waist to shake John’s hand.

“Likewise.” John looked between the two of them. “So, are you guys a thing?”

So much for ignoring his blush. The both of them remained silent, though Thomas stood there grinning at James’ red face, which seemed to be answer enough for John.

The constant stream of work, Dolley, John, Thomas, and a never-ending amount of cake made the week pass by faster than James would’ve preferred. It wasn’t long before he was pulling up outside a fancy law firm. The whole place was made of glass, dark marble, and metal, reflecting the outside light off every surface. James pressed every button on the elevator to delay the inevitable just a little bit longer. When he finally reached the 13th floor (and didn't that number bode well…), a secretary directed him to the meeting room he was meant to be in.

His father was sitting straight in a chair at the head of the long table occupying the room. A grim-faced lawyer sat at his side. Another lawyer with a bit more personality greeted James and gestured to the seats. James decided to be dramatic and pick the other head of the table like it was a face-off (and wasn’t it, in a way?).

His father’s lawyer started, “We’ll now proceed with the reading of Mrs. Madison's will.”

Most of it was regular will stuff, including the clause requiring James and his father to read it together. It wasn't until the end that James understood.

“I wish for all my assets to be divided equally along my children and husband. Lastly, as Montpelier is still in my name, I bequeath the deed and property to my son, James Madison.”

What. James could only imagine his look mirrored his father's slack-jawed expression. This is what his mother meant. Holy shit, he now owned the house his father lived in.

James composed himself and looked directly at Mr. Madison. He sat back and crossed his legs, a smug smile on his face. His father narrowed his eyes at him. James couldn't help but taste the sweet revenge of karma.

Before the two Madisons parted, James stopped Mr. Madison. “You're still allowed to live there if you want,” he offered with the fakest smile he could put together. His father growled and stormed off.

##

Thomas was pleasantly surprised when he got the text from James with his address and a smiley face. While he had been surprised that James used emojis in general, he was more surprised to find him in a good mood after dealing with his sorry excuse for a father. His apparent mood made Thomas want to see him that much sooner.

Not surprisingly, James’ place was barely a few blocks from the bakery. If the bakery had a second floor, Thomas didn't doubt that James would live there instead.

It was part of a nice apartment complex with little townhouses for the residents. Thomas drove in circles for a bit before he found apartment 1791 (he’d definitely be making a Bill of Rights joke later).

He knocked at the door and it immediately opened to reveal a smiling James Madison. Thomas felt a little dizzy knowing James had to have been waiting at the door for him. James let him through and he didn't bother to look over the apartment when he had something better to see.

James was still dressed in the suit he probably wore to the meeting and that was a good look for him. An even better look was the cat-that-caught-the-canary grin on his face. It lit up his whole face and the mischief in his eyes made him need to know what happened.

“Darlin’, you're gonna have me all kinds of distracted in that suit.” He added a wink for emphasis.

The blush that appeared didn't diminish his expression. “Maybe that's what I intended,” he teased. “Actually, I just hadn't thought about it. I should probably change before I wrinkle it.”

“Go right ahead. I'll try not to cause too much trouble.”

James rolled his eyes and headed to a door next to the kitchen. With James out of his sight, Thomas finally admired the apartment.

The aforementioned kitchen was probably the area with the most going on. Everything was organized with militant precision, by type of ingredient (dry for things like flour and starch, spices for, well, spices, and a whole rack of flavor extracts). Thomas figured the kitchen and cabinets looked the same, all labeled with names and expiration dates. Oddly enough, the pot holders and towels all had cats on them. He'd have to ask about that.

The next most interesting area was the connected living/dining room. The dining room part consisted mostly of just a glass table, but it was covered in books. The living room portion was similar in that regard. Two bookshelves were filled past the brim with books of all kinds, recipe books, law books, classic fiction and non-fiction, even some sci-fi and fantasy novels. Was that a shitty-looking romance novella? He'd have to ask about that too.

A laptop sat on the couch across from a small tv that looked to be gathering dust. Somehow, it all seemed very James, which Thomas supposed it should.

Speaking of the devil, James emerged from his bedroom in jeans and a Princeton sweater. It was more casual than Thomas had ever seen him and somehow just as distracting as the suit. James smiled at him again and Thomas came undone a little.

“So,” he said lamely.

“So,” James repeated. “I guess we should have that conversation now?”

“Yes! Mind if I steal a chair?” He gestured to one of the dining room chairs. He got a nod in return, so he grabbed one and set it in front of the couch. “I figured we should face each other. Otherwise, I might get distracted and cuddle instead.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” James replied, but he sat on the couch across from him.

“I really to be with you,” Thomas got straight to the point. “But there's a few things you need to understand.”

“Same for you.” He took Thomas’ hands in his. “I don’t think it's what you're doing, but I can't and won't be your wife’s replacement. I'm perfectly alright with that.”

“That's good. That's one thing off my list.” Thomas added, “I'll always love Martha and I'll probably always mourn her death, but that doesn't mean that one day I might not feel the same intensity for you.”

James blushed again and Thomas decided it was a good look for him. “I bet I can guess the other item on your list. The girls?”

“The girls,” he confirmed. “They always have to come first. If it’s between you and them, I'll pick them. Also,” he tried to figure out how to word it, “this can't be some casual thing. I'm not asking you to marry me, but I need to make it clear that you'd need to go into this with a plan to stay. I don't want my girls to get hurt by getting attached only to have you disappear from their lives because we had a fight over something stupid.”

“I don't do things halfway,” he assured him. “On that, I'd need you to be patient with me. The only children I've ever been able to handle were my own siblings and this is the first time since that a kid actually liked me, even if only for my baking skills.” He glanced away, a sheepish look on his face. “I don't know if you noticed, but I nearly had a panic attack when you handed Maria over to me.”

“They do both already like you, so there's that. Hell, Patsy was trying to play matchmaker before I managed to get my head out of my ass.” He joked, “It was a tight fit.”

James snorted. “I like them too. You did good with them.”

Thomas couldn't help but smile at that. He couldn't count the number of nights he couldn't sleep, thinking he couldn't do it without Martha, that he was a terrible father, that it was so difficult caring for two kids on his own. “Thank you,” he rasped. “It hasn't been easy, but it's always been worth it.”

“Anything worth doing will never be easy.” James stood, pulling Thomas up with him. “Like this, but I'm willing to do it if you are.”

Thomas took his hands back to wrap them around James' waist. “I'm more than willing, Darlin'.”

“Good.” James leaned upwards to kiss him.

With everything out and discussed, it somehow made this kiss better than the last. It was probably more chaste than the first, but knowing there’d be more to come was exhilarating.

Thomas decided to savor this and every kiss after it. A distant thought swam through his mind when James threaded a hand into his hair again.

This was more than worth it. He'd make it work. They'd make it work, together.

##

James wanted to laugh at how wrong he'd been three weeks ago. He was so sure he'd regret hiring Thomas. He knew things would never be the same, and that had become true, but regret this he did not.

James planned to hold onto this feeling for as long as he could. He was scared—hell, he was terrified, but he'd make it work. They'd make it work. It didn’t matter that Thomas hasn’t seen how he is some days, that he doesn’t yet know all his eccentricities; it all faded away.

What did matter was this. Just this.

##

Thomas had just planned to stop by _Dough Re Mi_ and bother his favorite baker, but when he saw a greasy kid with a tight grip on his left shoulder chatting with John, his curiosity got the best of him.

“Hey, John,” he greeted. “Who's your friend?”

“Thomas!” he exclaimed. The kid was practically a ray of sunshine. “This is Alexander, my boyfriend. Alex, this is Thomas. He filled in for me when you got hurt and I'm pretty sure he's dating Mr. Madison.”

“Wait,” Thomas said, ignoring the last bit for James' sake, “are you telling me this is the idiot who got into a _code duello_ with no intention of anyone getting hurt but still neglected to check the goddamn guns?” The kid—Alex—was glaring at him now. “You're the reason we need gun control.”

Thomas barely caught John's quiet, “Here we go,” before Alex opened his mouth.

“Excuse me? Are you suggesting infringing upon my rights as an American citizen?” Alex stood on his tiptoes to get in his face. His intrusion made him almost miss James coming out to see what the commotion was. “My amendment rights guarantee me the right to bear arms.”

“Yeah, but when you treat guns like toys and act as if duels still happen and are legal, then the government gets the right to take them away.” Now, Thomas was riled up and he planned to give him a good tongue lashing. He could feel his accent getting thicker as he ranted. “God forbid anyone learns gun safety or decides to get some common sense. Do you even own a gun safe? How about not keeping a loaded gun? Do you keep the safety on? I bet you just leave the damn thing lyin' around and loaded, waitin’ to go off half-cocked like you.”

“I do, in fact have a safe. The only reason the guns were loaded at all was because the last time I took them out, I thought someone was breaking into our apartment in the middle of the night. It's called _self-defense_ ,” he spit the last couple of words into his face.

Thomas leaned back, disgusted and thoroughly unimpressed. A sneer decorated his face. “So you decided to go back to bed without even takin' your gun apart? Shameful. Who on God's green earth gave you a gun license?”

“A professional,” he growled. “Honestly, I'm surprised. You sound like the kind of country hick who’d be all for giving guns out like candy and saying screw it to gun safety.”

“Well, bless your heart,” he spit back. “Ya caught me in my little red-neck ways.” He shoved Alex aside. “As if. I'm as much a hick as I am white. I have degrees in business, philosophy, and astronomy, so you can take _your_ backwards thinking to whatever hole you crawled out of.” Thomas stomped over to James and pulled him back into the kitchen.

“You okay?” He had an eyebrow quirked upward and an amused smirk on his face.

 He took a big deep breath. “Sorry, Jemmy-James. I'm not usually like that.”

“Alexander has that kind of effect on people. Perfectly agreeable folks tend to blow up when he starts running his mouth.” James grabbed a hairnet and pulled Thomas’ hair into it. “Don't forget we’re in a kitchen Jefferson,” he scolded.

“Yes, mother,” he teased him. “Want any help since your decorator seems distracted?”

James gave him a beautiful smile. “That would be greatly appreciated.”

Thomas went to go work on something when he heard Alex screech from the front, “Thomas _Jefferson_? As in the politician’s son? What the hell is with all the Virginian politicians’ progeny going into baking?!”

James laughed at the loud groan Thomas let out. Things were never gonna be quiet now that he was with James. One look at James face made it clear to him that he was perfectly okay with that.

“Okay, Jefferson, listen here—”

But that didn't mean he had to be okay with everything.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it because if you think I'm done with Dough Re Mi, you would be wrong! I enjoy singleParent!Jefferson getting burned by his daughters and James freaking out about things and stress baking. James making cake for Maria is #aesthetic as is Maria putting on her little girl charms to convince him to do so. She knows what she's doing. Basically, there'll be lots more with the Jeffersons and the Schuyler-Paynes and perhaps even more showdowns between Thomas and Alex.
> 
> Fun Fact-ish: A lot of people characterize Alex as someone who'd be a liberal today, but he actually probably wouldn't be, at least not to the extent he's represented as in fanfiction. I'm no scholar, but from what I've read, Hamilton probably wouldn't have been a fan of someone trying to take his guns away (whether that would change if he came back (alive or reincarnated) from his duel with Burr, we'll never know). Hamilton was actually kind of an asshole, but so was everyone else. He was just more open about it, I guess. He'd probably still be a democrat since he was for a stronger central government, but only because I bet he'd be a 'you're wasting your vote if you vote third party' kind of person.
> 
> Just a side note: Any politics presented in my fics are not necessarily a reflection of my own beliefs, they're just there for fiction and speculation.
> 
> Fun Fact 2: An actual fact that I'm sure many of you know, James Madison and Thomas Jefferson knew each other for half a freaking century. Friendship goals, right? They visited each other pretty often even if they weren't in the same state, such as when President Madison left the capital to watch the eclipse with his bestie. Nerds.


End file.
